Silver Bells and Red Ribbons
by LionQueen
Summary: Patrick is tested again with yet another weird case involving something he doesn’t believe in. We might be saying sometime later - Yes Patrick, there IS a Santa Claus! Our CBI team along with original characters - enjoy and Happy Holidays!
1. The Man in the Red Hat

-1**Title:** Silver Bells and Red Ribbon

**Rating: **T

**Genre:** Humor/Mystery/Drama/Romance?  
**Characters:** Our buddies Patrick Jane, Kendall Cho, Theresa Lisbon and Grace Van Pelt along with Corin showing up in between and well, she's splattered in there.  
**Warnings:** Nothing really to be concerned with. If you followed my first fic for the show - The Scarlet Thread, there is a gap between that story and this one. There's stuff in the middle that will fill it in later. ( This chapter isn't as long either.)

**Summary: **Patrick is tested again with yet another weird case involving something he doesn't believe in. We might be saying sometime later - _Yes Patrick, there IS a Santa Clause! _

**Author's Note:** Thanks so much to Ellipsis9 who came up with the first Mentalist Christmas fic that I can think of. Kudos to you! And it was so clever too! Thanks for inspiring me to write one. I hope all you other writers join us! So fun! XD

**Disclaimer - **_I own no original characters or storylines for The Mentalist. The characters of Corin and the other miscellaneous personalities that may or may not appear in this story are the only ones I can claim as mine. This storyline is mine as well. _

**Silver Bells and Red Ribbons - By LionQueen**

**Chapter One - The Man in the Red Hat**

"That is one sad, pathetic little tree Charlie Brown."

Rigsby hadn't been at his desk long. He was hunched over, typing out a report and grumbling to himself. He hated tedious, meaningless, tasks preferring to be out in the street somewhere knocking down doors and kicking ass.

His fingers stopped abruptly over the keyboard as he flicked a slow brewing glare upwards. Sure the tree wasn't the most luscious he'd ever seen, but it was his and it was on his desk, so what did it matter to Jane?

Patrick was hovering over him, sizing up the sparse scrap of pine that Rigsby had placed there about ten minutes ago. It stood about a foot and a half tall and bent over a little at the top.

"Yea, well, it's my desk." Rigsby growled. "And it's my tree. And what do you care anyway …You don't even like Christmas, right? I mean, how can you, you're an atheist who can't even bring himself to believe in Santa Claus."

"That was not bad." Jane nodded, with a seemingly pleased expression. "The delivery was a little awkward, but, effective all the same. I'm impressed."

"Where'd you dig that thing up, anyway?" Cho dropped in. He'd been amusing himself on the sidelines at his own desk, having made the same observation as Patrick, but hadn't vocalized it until now. He was crossing the floor, headed off to fill his empty mug with a fresh brew of java, and decided to take a jab himself … It was fun and kept him entertained.

"Probably from the same place you got that cologne." Patrick noted, covering his nose with his hand. "Cho, no offense man, but …You stink."

"What?" Cho blinked, taking a whiff into his shoulder.

He'd turned his head around when Lisbon passed him, as if asking her opinion. And she gave it quickly. "Yea …Ahm …He's right. You might wanna rethink wearing that... Whatever it is."

Cho flicked his eyes across the office and then strode off towards the bathroom.

Van Pelt tried hard not to make a face when she passed Cho, but it was difficult. She was coming back from the break room with a slice of fruitcake in her hand.

"Holy crap, you eat that?" Patrick jeered, eyeballing the cake as if it were going to ooze from her hand like the blob and attach itself to him. He dramatically shivered while delivering the comment.

"Yes." She answered curtly, all but turning her nose in the air. "I love fruitcake … And this one is homemade."

"Ooo…." Rigsby crooned. "The homemade ones are really good."

A glowing smile of satisfaction spread across her face. "And it's even better with eggnog."

"The festive version, of course? Having a bit of the sauce is permitted then, right?"

She'd drawn her eyebrows down into her classic Van Pelt scowl when Rigsby leapt to her rescue. "Hey man, what's your problem today? Why do ya gotta be such a Grinch?"

"Or Scrooge." Van pelt chided, with a pout.

'Yes, well, whatever. Back to this tree of yours."

"Yea, what?" This time Rigsby was sitting up straight, head tilted to the side, and his tone was a bit more agitated than it had been.

"What about his tree?" Van Pelt stuck a finger out and lifted one of the sagging branches.

"I think it's cute."

Jane noticed the pink that flushed over Rigsby's face and just couldn't resist. "She said she thinks _it's_ cute, not _you_ …Rudolph."

"Yea, yea …" Lisbon broke the flow after hanging up the phone. "Okay children, play nice. We got a call, let's go."

"Yes Ma'am." Rigsby replied, sliding out from the desk. He was joined by Cho, who'd only just returned from the restroom.

Cho tried to give him a subtle glance. "Well?"

Rigsby took a whiff and shook his head. "It's gonna be a long ride."

Lisbon had continued her pace through the door, unaware of Rigsby, who'd already fallen in line behind her. Assuming Lisbon was holding the door open, Rigsby had his head turned to the side and when he looked straight again he stepped nose first into the glass. Lisbon flipped around when she'd heard the smack.

There was Wayne holding his nose in his hands.

"Oh, are you alright? You shouldn't have been so close behind me."

'Uh yea …" Wayne responded agitatedly. "Yea, just fine. Don't worry about me."

Van Pelt, however, was right on it. She muttered something and then she'd flown back towards the break room, returning two or three minutes later with a small hand towel wrapped around a bag of ice. "Let me see? Well, there's a little swelling but it's not broken. Here, just keep this on your nose while we're on the way."

"Nice goin Chuck!" Patrick smirked at Rigsby, as Van Pelt passed him. He raised a finger in the air, with a jovial twinkle in his eye. "So, if _you're_ Charlie Brown, Lisbon is Lucy, and Cho is Pig Pen, does that make Van Pelt the Little Red Headed Girl?"

Wayne blushed again, checking to see if Grace had actually heard the discourse. Then Cho slapped a hand over Jane's shoulder. "Guess that makes you Peppermint Patty."

Jane rolled his eyes, as they caught up with Lisbon and Van Pelt. "Please … Look at the hair …. I am _so_ Woodstock!"

"Maybe," Lisbon teased, stepping out into the parking lot. "But you act like Snoopy."

"Hmmm. I've been called worse you know."

"Snoopy? You think that's an insult?" Rigsby balked, jumping into the backseat.

"Not unless you don't like Beagles." Cho slid in the middle, Van Pelt on the other side.

Cho flicked glances between the other four who were tilting their heads towards him and then the windows went down.

Lisbon briefed them, on the way, that the call was about the murder of a forty-two year old man. The man, Alvin Howard, who most people called Howie, was discovered, just a few hours prior to the CBI's arrival, draped over the Santa Sleigh - which was a temporary fixture as a part of his elaborate Christmas display.

"That's um …That's definitely elaborate." Jane agreed when they parked on the side of the street.

It was garish actually. But fabulous if you were into that sort of thing. The house was fairly large, but the yard was far more expansive in comparison. There was certainly room for an outlandish display, and that is exactly what was spread upon it.

A sizeable, red welcome sign hung over a wooden post next to the driveway. Among the decorations were sticks of red and white candy canes stringed along the lengthy path leading to the front door. On either side were a variety of entertaining contraptions.

There was a functioning, miniature Ferris Wheel primed for thrilling a few bright-eyed tots at a time and a matching carousel to handle the ones who were waiting to ride the Ferris wheel. A booth was erected closer to the house that looked as if, when running properly, it served a limited fare of food and refreshments.

Jane was wandering the yard, playing with the ornaments hanging off of the trees when he eventually focused his attention to the sleigh. "Hey Rigsby, looks like they're gonna need a Rudolph .. And since you're the only one with a red nose."

"Oh right, ha! Very funny." Rigsby answered, and then subconsciously drew a hand over his face.

"That's not funny!" Van Pelt scolded. "It's disrespectful, cracking jokes over a dead person like that!"

"Why?" Patrick countered. "It's not like we're making jokes _about_ the dead guy. Besides, how's he gonna know anyway? He's dead!"

And Howie was dead. He was sprawled out across the interior of the sleigh like shish kabob. He'd been run through the middle with one of the candy canes, but Jane suspected that this was not the way he died,.

"Looks maybe he got in a fight with someone." Cho asserted, examining the body up close. "It went sour and the assailant ran off, leaving him to bleed to death."

"Ummhmm…He was impaled with a candy cane in the gut, not rendered helpless, why didn't he just get up and call for help? "

"Maybe he hit his head when he fell over the sleigh." Lisbon offered. "What are you getting at?"

"Hmm … I'll get back to you on that." And then he started to walk slowly away from the body, pacing himself methodically over the ground.

"Wait, where are you going?" Lisbon called after, leaving the body behind.

"You think the assailant fled."

"Yes, of course … I don't see anyone else here .. Do you?"

"Actually, yes I do." He took a couple of steps more and then pointed.

"What the hell?" She stared, jaw dropped at the second body lying face down under the shrub. "We've got a double homicide on our hands?"

"Nope." Jane disagreed. "Just one."

He moved closer, and then tapped the man's boot with his shoe. "Mornin sunshine."

There was a groan and then the body rolled over, revealing an older man's face on the other side. He squinted small blue eyes, and then ran a fat palm over his white beard.

"Hello." Lisbon smiled, stepping out to give him a hand up. That's when she noticed the blood caked on his jean overalls.

He stretched out a hand, but then took it back once he realized that they, too, were stained red. "I'm sorry dear." He managed and then rose on his own.

Lisbon flashed Jane a look as they were joined by Rigsby and Van Pelt.

"What's your name?"

"It's Nicholas, but you can call me Chris if you like. Most people do."

"He looks like Santa Claus." Van Pelt commented, then expressed a look that said - _Did I just say that out loud? _

"Oh, well that's who I am, dear." He confirmed.

Lisbon tried to hold back a giggle, while Jane rolled his eyes and groaned under his breath.

"Here we go."

Jane reached out a hand and gave the man's beard a good tug.

"Stop it." Van Pelt murmured, stomping on Jane's foot.

Chris laughed with a round-mouthed chuckle. "Oh, it's real."

"Santa Claus." Lisbon echoed flatly.

" Christopher Cringle, Saint Nicholas, among other names." He responded. 'But, yes child

"… I am Santa Claus."


	2. Visions of Red Dancing in His Head

_**Chapter Two - Visions of Red Dancing in His Head **_

It was an overcast day, clouds looming overhead and threatening cold, steady rain. Corin stepped over the curb, pulling her thin overcoat tighter around her in the chilly blast of air whipping around her in short bursts.

'Hey." She turned around at the voice behind her and found Wayne there, just stepping into the grass. He was by her side in a couple of more steps.

"Hey." She returned softly, switching the little, green tree from one hand to the other as she leaned in to hug him. He slid an arm around her shoulder and then they paced themselves across the ground, needling their way in and out of the slabs of marble without saying much at all.

Corin sighed when they stopped. Wayne blinked, torn by a new pang of grief mixed with anger and guilt as he watched his sister kneel down and swipe her palm across the marble slab. Then she secured the little tree there, in the holder. It sat there, upright, the tiny silver bells glinting flecks of dimmed sunlight. She brought her fingers to her mouth, kissed them and then placed them on the slab, carefully tracing over the letters.

She blinked and then rose, clamping her fingers around Wayne's when she'd felt him taking her hand. They stood there together for a few minutes, looking over the spot, and then he kissed her on the head. "Come on. We should go."

"Yea." She nodded tearfully, which prompted him to wrap his arms around her for a minute or two, and then he nudged her back towards their cars.

Wayne watched her pull out, thinking how unfair it was, and would rather have followed her home instead of heading back to the CBI. He'd ridden back with the group after they'd picked up Santa Claus, and then he abandoned them in the parking lot, retrieving his own car so that he could meet Corin.

He chuckled thinking about it. _Santa Claus. _He didn't know what was more amusing, the idea of a psychopath Santa, or Jane's expression when the guy stood up and declared he actually was the jelly belly in the flesh.

He let this thought ride with him, trying to blot out the nag in his gut, on his way back to the CBI office.

"Well? Anyone else dead yet?" He mused, striding up to Van Pelt, who was busy researching files on the computer.

She scowled without looking up. "Not funny. But no."

He threw a glance toward the interrogation rooms. "They still in there?"

"Yep."

"Huh." He added, impassively, and then strolled towards the interrogation room. Cho was there, staring through the one way mirror.

"Did he cough up the reindeer ?"

"Nope." Cho answered so straight-faced, Rigsby wondered if he'd even gotten the joke. But then he added, without so much as even turning his head. "Maybe you could give it a try, he might find some familiarity with the red nose and all."

"Dude, that joke's way old." Rigsby whined, but then he stared into the glass hoping to get a glance at his own face. Sure the nose was a little sore, but still red? "Whatever, so what exactly did we find out?"

"Nothing much really." Cho shrugged. "Howie hired him after the last guy showed up to work drunk. "

"Work?"

"Yea. Seems Howie was a rather eccentric old fart. Took this Christmas stuff a little too seriously."

"What do you got against Christmas?"

"Aside from otherwise ordinary people morphing into greedy, hateful moron's who beat each other up over a giggling Elmo, while going into debt buying gifts for people they don't even speak to, much less like, and their kids loads of cheap shit that winds up in the trash the next day, and then gorging themselves on a crap load of food that they don't really even enjoy … I don't have a problem at all …It's spectacular!"

Rigsby blinked, stunned at Cho's ability to deliver such an oration in what seemed like one long uninterrupted stream of breath, as he continued to stare through the window, never changing his dead-faced expression. Rigsby then frowned and responded. "Sorry I asked. Yeesh."

Alvin Howard was a self made man. He owned two hotels which had been successful up until the latter part of the previous year. Business was down and was at risk of going under. He kept up his usual holiday cheer, regardless, decorating his hotels and of course his home - for which he'd become well-known.

Cho was right when he said Howie took Christmas seriously. Every weekend, starting right after Thanksgiving, he set up a live nativity and hired a Santa Claus to accompany his sleigh. He'd even managed to score a couple of reindeer to top off the fun. It was safe to say, Howie loved Christmas.

Chris took over the role of Santa literally five minutes after the drunk, fat man was fired. He was a nasty old lush, whom Chris determined, after they'd passed each other on the street, unfit for playing nice with the children.

Chris and Howie became fast friends and it wasn't long before Chris was living there with Howie. He'd won over Howie's sister as well, but the brother- in- law was a different story. He was skeptical, accusing him of aiming for Howie's checkbook.

The night of the murder, Chris was sleeping in his room when he heard a strange sound. He stepped out into the hallway, and was moving towards the front of the house when he felt a pain in his head and then everything went black.

Lisbon asked him if Howie had any enemies or if, while living with him, had he noticed any animosity between him and anyone in particular.

"No." Chris responded considerately. "He was a good man, thoughtful and kind. It's a shame that someone could do something like this to him. He was a sweet boy too, he'd give away almost everything I gave him."

"Oh boy, here it comes." Rigsby commented, watching Jane move from the corner of the room and sit himself beside Lisbon. He shuffled his weight in the chair, folded his arms in front of him and then leaned forwards. Lisbon shot him a '_please behave' _sort of look and then he settled his eyes into Chris's.

"So, you're Santa Claus, huh? Portly old geezer from the North Pole, lives with elves, goes flying around at night shoving your lard-ass down dusty old chimney's? How exactly does that work anyway? Do you just suck in your disgustingly fat old gut? "

"Oh Patrick." Chris laughed. "You were a good boy. Funny. Always getting into some kind of trouble. I always liked you."

"Right." Jane rolled his eyes.

Then Chris sighed. "I'm sorry. I had such a difficult time finding you, you were moving around so much with your father."

"Ahm! " Jane held a finger up abruptly. "You can stop right there."

Lisbon gave a start. His tone even took Cho and Rigsby by surprise as he straightened himself. His eyes narrowed subtly. "You're not fooling anybody old man. _I see you. _"

"Um, Jane."

But he ignored Lisbon as he usually did when he was ready to deliver one of his sharp-edged, tactical speeches. "Give it up, Chris - _or whatever your name really is_. This isn't Miracle on twenty-fourth street, nobody's gonna buy the whole insanity bit. "

"Thirty-fourth street."

"Sorry?" Jane tilted his head.

"Miracle on Thirty-Fourth street, I think."

"Oh." Jane smiled. "My mistake, _So it is_. Santa watches TV? How's the reception at the North Pole?"

"Yes, I do actually." Chris admitted. "And it depends, sometimes very good, sometimes not so good. But please Patrick, don't let me stop you. Say what it is you mean to say."

_And Jane was intent on it. _"The brother in law was right wasn't he? All the evidence points to it, literally right down to the blood on your hands. _Howie's blood. _So, make it easier on yourself and confess. You killed Alvin Howard you sick ol' bastard, didn't you?"

Chris dropped his eyes, shaking his head slowly, and when he raised them again, they were glistening. He sighed, a sharp sadness in his voice. "I don't know what happened to you Patrick, but I hope you find some peace. Alvin Howard was a good man, kind and generous. He didn't deserve this. But I couldn't kill anyone … You should know that. "

Jane rose abruptly. "We're done here."

Cho and Rigsby moved when Jane came barreling through the door, Lisbon hot on his heels. "We're done here? What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

Jane flipped around. "How long can we hold him?"

"Without charging him? A couple of hours maybe. Why?"

"Why can't we charge him? He was found on the murder scene with the victims blood all over him."

"Well, first …" She responded, detecting a certain disappointment in his demeanor. " I don't think that man back there could kill a bug. Secondly, I think we should interview the sister and brother- in- law. "

She stared at him a moment, and then added. "He really got under your skin, didn't he? "

"Sorry to interrupt." Van Pelt stepped up to the two of them, handing Lisbon a folder. " You might wanna talk to the banker as well."

Jane eyed Rigsby's thin little tree, tilting his head as he questioned. "What's so special about the banker?"

Lisbon glanced over the file before replying. "Oliver Potter. Looks like he and Howard were having problems. Potter was threatening to take the hotels from under him."

"Um. This is a joke right?" Jane sputtered, staring blankly at Lisbon.

"What?"

"Potter?" He snorted and then flicked a disbelieving glance around the room. "Seriously, are we on TV?"

'Okay, Okay, yes, I see the ridiculous irony, but still, there it is. Okay? Look, Van Pelt and I will take on the sister, why don't you and Rigsby talk to Potter since you did such a good job on Santa?"

"Funny." He sneered.

"Jane? What'd you do to Santa?"

"He made him cry." Rigsby answered Van Pelt. He and Cho were just returning from the interrogation area.

"Really? " She gasped. "Jane! You made Santa cry? How could you do that?!"

"First." Jane responded. "That's a suspect back there, and probably the killer. Second, there's no such thing as Santa Claus."

"You poor sad man." Van Pelt patted him on the head, while tossing her eyes over to the skinny green tree perched sadly on Rigsby's desk.

"The North Pole is real, and reindeer do fly."

"Oh I do so hope not." Jane groaned, watching Van Pelt and Lisbon exit the building.

* * *

_**A/N - I would have had this out sooner, but I got stuck somewhere in the middle, unsure of who dunnit and how to set it all up. I also know it's a shorter chapter, but it felt like it needed to end here.**_

_**I can't complain over eight reviews. Thank you so much! A couple of you have had me laughing - Santa killed somebody? LOL!!! So funny. **_

_**Thank you so much IdleCrush, you are so cool! Thank you also to Cessations, Some crazy girl who likes pie, Tpel, Langfieldl, Ellipsis9, MauriceJayo, CSI-MM, DarkAmazOn, Nsane1, and CharmedDaughterForever. I hope you keep reading and enjoying the story! **_

_**Here's to more Mentalist fanfics, and more holiday tales too! **_


	3. Red Herring Christmas

_**Chapter Three - Red Herring Christmas **_

Mrs. Ricketts, Albert Howard's sister, appeared quite diminutive compared to her husband, Tom, who was tall and looming as he, along with his wife greeted the two CBI agents at the door. Mrs. Ricketts smiled nervously, her waxy, blonde locks, swept up in loose ringlets behind her head, bounced happily as she rambled in a hypnotizing animation - which seemed an odd contrast with her mascara streaked face. "Please, forgive my appearance. I haven't been able to get myself together all day. "

"It's quite alright." Agent Lisbon assured, following her from the entrance to the front room. Van Pelt toddled along behind her, staring at the décor.

The house was as well put together as Mrs. Ricketts, minus the smeared makeup. There were two fireplace mantles, white and lined with picture frames and crystal trinkets. Two warm, crackling flames flickered underneath the mantles in uniform rhythm.

Both Van Pelt and Lisbon sat down upon the short white couch, while the lady of the house perched herself rigidly upright on the edge of the matching white chair as if preparing for an interview. She wrung her hands while chattering. "I couldn't imagine Chris being responsible for something like this. He's such a nice old man. And well, he _is_ old."

Her husband, Tom Ricketts, was leaning against the mantle, arms folded until she began to speak. His jaw worked under his skin until he could hardly bear it. Dropping his arms, he cut her off sharply. "Belle, you can't be serious. "

"About what Tom? " She scowled. "Honestly, why do you find it so hard to have some compassion? Chris is a sweet old man, even if he is a little …"

"Crazy in the head? Yea, that's what he wants you to think. Probably what he wanted your brother to think too. "

"Okay." Lisbon blew out. "Mr. Ricketts, why do suspect him? Did he do or say something that would … "

"I …Look, I'm not stupid."

"No one said you were." Van Pelt stared at him unblinkingly.

"Let's just say, I've seen his type before."

Lisbon tilted her head. "And what type would that be?"

"The type who weasels his way in, gains trust and then robs you blind. Look, it's pretty obvious right? Howie's stabbed to death in his own front yard and there's Chris with his blood all over him? What more evidence do you need? "

"Oh Tom." Belle sobbed into her handkerchief, and then she bolted up, heels clicking rapidly on the linoleum floor as she turned her back on both her visitors and her husband.

"There! You see!" He whined, glaring at Lisbon. "Is that why you came here? To further upset my wife?"

"No, looks like you've done that just fine on your own." Van Pelt frowned, her boss shooting her a look that said she'd spoken enough.

Lisbon fixed her eyes on Ricketts for a moment, as he stared off towards the direction his wife had stomped, and then she took a breath. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Ricketts. We might have a few more questions for you at a later time. We'll be in touch."

"Wait, wait, please." Belle pleaded, clicking her heels back towards them.

"Yes Ma'am."

Belle blinked at Van Pelt and then continued. "When will they set bail for Chris?"

"Well, actually, he hasn't been charged with anything. " Lisbon admitted. "So, no bail is necessary at this time."

"Thank you." Belle gushed. "Thank you so much. He …If you don't mind ..My brother trusted him. And I trusted my brother's judgment more than any other."

"We understand." Lisbon assured, she and Van Pelt closing in on the door. They were happy to step out into the fresh air, leaving the festering couple to themselves.

Rigsby and Jane had left Cho in the office, staring at Rigsby's tree until he'd eventually resolved to digging out a book from his collection under his desk. They'd watched him kick back his feet, while leaning into his seat and spreading open the book, effectively blocking his face from their view. Rigsby had a nice comment forming in his head, but thought better of it, grabbing the car keys and heading to the door.

He would have been within his rights, given how much he'd been razzed about his Christmas decoration, but he'd lost some of his inspiration within the solemnity of the drive back from the graveyard. That, and he had to keep reminding himself that there was one less gift to get this year, and somehow that made all the other gifts seem meaningless.

He was driving with one hand on the wheel and his elbow propped on the window sill, his hand cupped around the back of his neck. Jane watched him for a while and then he decided he would bring attention to the elephant in the car. Provoking people into talking about things they didn't want to discuss was a task of which he was well accustomed.

He'd noticed the distant look etched within the lines on Rigsby's face, and identified the lingering scent around him. "You wanna tell me what's on your mind?"

'My mind?" Rigsby answered distractedly.

"You're eyes are fixed on the middle line, and you've been white-knuckling the wheel since we left the station. I already know what's eating you, but I'm giving you the chance to tell me yourself."

"Yea?"

"Of course.." Jane affirmed. "You're thinking of Corin. You were with her at the cemetery, after you left the crime scene earlier."

Rigsby's head seemed to wrench itself sideways almost completely involuntarily of his will as he blurted. "How the hell? " And then he threw a hand up, waving it in the air. "Ah, forget it, look who I'm talkin to …"

"You had dirt on your shoes when you came into the office, and pine needles on your jacket. And there's a hint of Corin's perfume around you as well."

"You know my sister's perfume ..."

"You shouldn't make too much of that." Jane smiled, enjoying the tone in Rigsby's voice. While normally it was rather obvious which was the older of the two, Corin may as well have been Rigsby's teen aged sister, given the measure of protectiveness he'd cultivated towards her. This was something both cute and sometimes bordering on overbearing. "If I can flesh out hand lotion on a severed hand, it would stand to reason that I'd have no problem recognizing perfume on a living person."

Wayne sighed. The how and why just wasn't relevant at this point anyway. Not when he was already a bit gloomy and a little despondent even. He flicked a quick glance over to Jane and then admitted quietly. "I just … This has been so hard on her. Now it's Christmas and she's alone in that old house. I wanna do somethin nice, you know? "

"Turn up here." Jane nodded towards the stop light on the next corner. "Left at the light."

"Why?"

"We're just gonna make a little detour, trust me, you'll thank me afterwards."

'I don't know. Lisbon won't be happy if we're not where we're supposed to be."

"What?" Jane shrugged. "Interrogating the banker? Meh, it doesn't matter, he's innocent anyway."

"What?" Rigsby skeptically made the turn, frowning as he turned the wheel. "How can you possibly know that?"

"Seriously?" Jane tilted his head sideways while smirking.

"Ah hell, fine. Fine!" Rigsby rolled his eyes. It was another dumb question, how did Jane know half of what he did?

Jane flickered an amused smile before Rigsby leaned forward a little over the wheel.

"Okay, now what?"

"Now, make a right at the next corner. "

The next move after the right was another left and then they were cruising down a narrow street lined with various shops and eateries. Rigsby knew the area, but didn't frequent it much.

Jane directed him to the front of a small building, set sort of isolated from the other clusters. There was no parking lot, and so Rigsby pulled in along the curb. He stared at the sign, oblivious as to what Jane had in mind. "Windham Antiques? You wanna go shopping? "

Jane eyed him, while stepping up beside him. "Why? Are you allergic."

"Uh … I don't think so." Rigsby cut his eyes to the side, and then made his way to the door.

"Well, that's good to know." Jane bantered in return.

They entered, Rigsby shaking his head. "Lisbon is gonna be so pissed."

"Lisbon doesn't need to know - does she?"

"Hello gentleman." Their greeter was a short, stubby older gentleman with white hair. He was standing behind a counter surrounded by bells of different shapes and sizes. It looked as if he might have been sorting them when the two men came in the door.

"Hello Clarence." Jane responded with a cheeky grin. "Mr. Rigsby and I are gonna have a look around."

"Oh, sure … Sure."

"But we'll be needing your assistance in a few minutes."

Rigsby frowned as Jane said this while Clarence responded. "Oh, of course. I'll be right here if you need me."

"What?" Jane blew out, aiming himself towards the back of the store. He ambled along, one foot in front of the other, hands entwined behind his back.

Rigsby cut a glance to the front at the sound of a tinkling bell, and got a glimpse of Clarence holding it in his hand, turning it around and then upside down. Was Jane truly oblivious to the irony? He frowned, and then huffed. "Nothin."

He was ready to put his foot down and demand they leave when something stopped him. Something sitting so inconspicuous, and yet so completely breathtakingly that everything else around it seemed small and insignificant. It wasn't elaborate or overstated, but Rigsby couldn't keep his eyes off of it. Perhaps it was because it seemed to be silently whispering Corin's name into every corner of the room.

Jane let the hint of a smile peak through. "Do you, see something you like?"

Rigsby was glowing, something Jane had never witnessed outside of whenever Van Pelt slipped him a word of positive affirmation on occasion. Rigsby turned to answer, and then started a little when his cell rang. "Yea boss."

"Rigsby, where the hell are you?"

"Sorry boss. We've been caught in traffic."

'Uhhuh. Well, you'd better haul ass before the bank closes."

"Sure thing." He said, and then he handed the phone to Jane. 'She wants to talk to you."

Jane winked and then stuck the phone to his ear. "Lisbon, darling, how are you?"

"I …" She stammered. "Very funny. Van Pelt and I spoke with the sister and her husband. The sister is a mouse."

"Really? I suppose the husband is a control freak then."

"That's an understatement." She confirmed.

"He stared at the floor, squinting a bit. "What does he do for a living? The brother- in -law?"

"Um, he's an attorney, specializing in finances."

"Really? Why does that not surprise me? "

"Is that a real question?" She said this wondering if anything ever surprised Jane.

"Well, no not really. You know, it's just what people say …"

"Okay, okay …." She stopped him before he painfully continued. "Obviously you have a theory."

"Lisbon, I'm impressed." He admitted, watching Rigsby examining the object before him, and then motioning for Clarence. "Either you're getting more observant or I'm slipping. Whichever the case, yes. It would probably be reasonable to assume that the brother -in-law must have had some kind of involvement in Howie's financial matters."

"That's right. " She affirmed. " He was trying to prevent Mr. Howard from going under."

"Ah." Jane stuck a finger in the air. "And that's where the error lies. Evidently this brother-in-law had reasonably assessed Howie's financial condition, why would he accuse Santa of ciphering money? Money that Howie clearly did not have?"

As usual, Jane had managed to hone in on the simplest of clues. This characteristic never ceased to amaze his fellow comrades. Lisbon rolled her tongue around in her mouth for a few seconds and then she nodded. "Okay, so now what? Call in the brother-in-law?"

"Actually …No. "

"Oh good grief, now what?" She clenched her eyes shut, wishing she hadn't asked that out loud. Here it came, she heard it even before it came out of his mouth.

"Actually .."

"You have a plan." She said simultaneously to his. "I have a plan."

"Indeed." Jane smiled, nodding at Rigsby and giving him a thumbs up.

He flipped the phone shut. "So, where were we?"

"Well, I think it's too late to get to Potter now." Rigsby admitted.

"Yup."

But then Rigsby smiled, tracing a finger along the treasure he'd scored. "But I don't care. Do you really think she's gonna like this?"

"Are you serious?" He grinned, showing a line of straight white teeth. "You might wanna bring along a paper bag and a pillow too."

"Huh?"

"For when she hyperventilates and then faints."

"Oh." Rigsby chuckled, not certain if he was supposed to or not. Then his brows narrowed. "You think?"

"What I think, Rigsby, is that she'll love it and it will probably be the best gift you've ever given her."

"Thanks man." He nodded, Jane picking up a misty look in his eye.

He wrapped up the sale with Clarence and then he and Jane headed for the door, the sound of tinkling bells echoing behind them. Rigsby slapped jane on the back. "Seriously, thanks man."

"For what?" He feigned, slipping into the passengers side.

"Oh no way." Rigsby blurted, handing him the keys.

"What? I get to drive? Rigsby, really, that's so touching!"

"Just don't tell Lisbon." He responded, feeling a bit of nausea from the warm, fuzzy sounding tone in Jane's voice, and then quickly pulled back before it got any weirder.

Jane all but skipped to the drivers side, plopped in and watched Rigsby settle into the passenger side. He slide the key in and then smiled. "So, where did Van Pelt say we were having this party?"

He could see Rigsby from the corner of his eye, knowing exactly the effect he was aiming for. He pulled out into the street, noting Rigsby's mouth curving up at the corners. Rigsby grabbed the phone from his pocket, in full grin and dialed. "Yea, Van Pelt? About this party…"

* * *

**A/N - Sorry, this was supposed to be finished by Christmas, but I got distracted with other things. I hope you enjoy! **


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